The Middle
by Phateh
Summary: The story takes place in England during the 16th century. A blacksmith's son, Thomas, and Camille, the princess of England, meet somewhere amongst the midst of their weary lives. Will their absurd love be accepted by society?
1. Chapter 1

Thomas

I sighed and threw aside the hammer. I didn't know why I felt so obligated to follow in my father's footsteps as a blacksmith. Now, as I hammered my thumb for the twelfth time today, I was really beginning to question my decision. Having a place in the family business was the only incentive to this work, and as I looked down at my swollen thumb, that hardly seemed enough of an excuse.

"Thomas, how is that order coming?" My father's gruff voice was hardly audible over the loud noise of the forge. He grabbed another piece of iron from the fire and brought it over to his anvil. I wasn't able to answer over the noise of the hammering, and realized that he didn't expect an answer.

My father had that way about him. He would ask something of you without directly posing a question.

I knew it meant picking up my hammer and finishing the small order that my father had entrusted me with. I was crafting numerous utensils to showcase during the harvest festival. As I was still in training, my father wouldn't dare allow me to work on weaponry or farming tools.

I muttered to myself as I tiredly hammered the slightly flattened piece of iron in front of me. After a few more tries, I hit my thumb for the last time. I turned from the anvil and held my thumb up to the scarce amount of light coming through the window. It was quite swollen and I could feel it throbbing as though it had a pulse of its own.

My mouth also felt quite dry and the room seemed to be getting smaller. It was so hot that I decided now was a good time to quit for the day. The soon to be fork could wait until later.

My father looked up from his work questioningly as I walked past him and left the shop. He didn't bother to say anything as he shook his head sadly in disapproval.

I breathed a sigh of relief as I stepped outside. The gentle breeze tousled my black hair and cooled the sweat on my brow. The forge in the shop, along with the intense work of hammering, made the shop too warm to be able to work comfortably or to think properly. This troubled me as I had much to ponder these days.

My father had given me the news that the king's stable master was looking to hire a farrier. The position was offered to me and it greatly distressed me, as I had much to learn. I could hardly handle utensils and now I was expected to make horseshoes.

I entered our small cottage next to the shop and made my way to the table. The water bucket was sitting there, tempting with its promise of quenching my thirst. I grabbed the ladle and scooped up some water. I held it up to my lips and gulped it down. My dry throat was instantly relieved as I replaced the ladle and headed towards my small room.

Since I was twelve years old, I had always collected books. My father found it quite odd, and assumed that I would drop the habit eventually. Now, seven years later, I had more than enough books, yet still the amount kept growing. Books covered my room from the floor to the ceiling. They covered my shelf, the chairs, and my small working desk. They were stuffed under my bed, under my desk, and in my dresser. Yet the clutter didn't bother me, as seeing the books were comfort enough to ease all of the stressful thoughts that were going through my head throughout the day.

I sat on my bed and grabbed a dusty book from underneath. It was one that I hardly understood, considering I had never been schooled; yet I found the lettering fascinating. I flipped through the pages and the musty smell of the book sufficed in clearing my thoughts.

I heard the front door open and then close. My father's rough cough could be heard from the other room.

"Thomas?"

I got up and tossed my book onto the bed. I left the room and went to my father.

"Yes sir?"

"What's the meaning of not finishing your work?" He spoke calmly with a solemn look on his face.

"Sorry sir, I will finish it soon. I just needed a quick break," I said, looking down at the floor, feeling more like a young boy rather than the man I was.

"You cannot take quick breaks once you work for the king. You best be getting used to the work now." My father sat down in his chair and clasped his hands together. His hands were rough and white with age, along with the work he had done for so long.

"About that, father. I'm not sure if I am ready to take on such a difficult job as that. What if I fail at it?"

My father's chest heaved with a cough before he was able to answer.

"Son, you can do the job, and you will. It'll get you a reputation with His majesty once he hears about the good work you are doing for him."

I tried to speak, but my father held up his hand and stood up.

"Pass me my kerchief," he said as he went to the door.

I grabbed it for him, quickly glancing at the initials that had been sewn there. _EP_: Elroy Parr. My mother had sewn my father's initials on that kerchief as a gift for him years ago. She had since passed away during childbirth after the baby had been born stillborn. It had been a sorrowful time for the both of us, especially since I was only ten years old at the time.

He took his cloth from me and coughed into it. I hoped he wasn't coming down with an illness, as it was something neither of us could afford.

My father went outside, heading back to the shop. I clenched my jaw. He had already made the decision for me. I was to work for the king whether I liked it or not. I could not bear to go against my father's wishes, yet I felt that this one request was something I could not possibly go through with.

I went outside the cottage and looked down the street. Villagers bustled here and there with livestock, food, and other types of materials in their possession.

A young man on a horse trotted down the lane and stopped in front of our shop. He tied his horse up to the post and went inside, the shop bell ringing loudly.

I went over to the horse and held up my hand. The horse barely acknowledged I was there. I shook my head and turned to enter the shop.

I overheard my father and the man talking. He needed new shoes for his horse and needed the work done quickly. He wasn't from around here and he seemed to be in quite the hurry to leave. My father nodded and followed the man outside to examine the horse's hooves.

I went back to my anvil and picked up my tongs. I had to reheat the iron in order to shape it.

My father trod back inside. He bustled around at the back of the shop and then called for me.

"Boy, it's time for you to make your first horse shoe."

My shoulders sagged as the meaning of his words hit me. "Yes sir," I said in a quiet, yet obedient voice. It seemed as though I would be moving to the castle sooner than expected.

My father already had the measurements for the horse's shoes. He heated a piece of iron in the forge and brought it over to his anvil. I joined him in silence.

"Take this," he said, handing me his hammer. "Put the iron on the hook and hammer it into a rounder shape."

I held the iron with the tongs and put it on the hook. I began to hammer the left side of the iron. My muscles screamed with the intense work of hammering. With my father watching, I could not take my time like I usually did.

The iron began to take shape, so my father instructed me to switch sides. I began to hammer the right side until it was equally as round.

"Now that we have the shape, we have to punch holes in it so we can nail it on the horse's hoof."

He took the tongs from me and grabbed the formed shoe from the hook. He put down the shoe and grabbed a sharp tool. Aiming the tool over the beginning of the shoe, he hammered it repeatedly until the tool went through the iron. He had made the first hole. He then handed the hammer and sharp tool over to me and waited while I struggled to hammer the next five holes. By the time I was finished, I was drenched in my own sweat and my muscles ached.

My father chuckled. "Well, that's one shoe completed. Now you have three more to go. Good luck son." He clapped me on the back, forcing me to stumble forward slightly. I clenched my teeth together as he set out the remaining pieces of cool iron.

"Come get me when you're finished, and then we can nail those shoes onto the horse."

I nodded slightly, finding it hard to believe that this is what I would be doing for a good part of my life. My father left the shop as I grabbed the next piece of iron and brought it over to the forge, thus regretting my choice of trade once again.


	2. Chapter 2

Camille

"My lady, I am here to escort you down to dinner." The servant bowed low as I slowly approached him. I nodded, signaling for him to stand up and lead the way.

"Thank you…" My father was known for remembering names, even the most insignificant of people in his court and household. I, on the other hand, had no use for names.

The man nodded and trod down the hallway. My ladies in waiting trailed behind me, scarcely making a sound. I hardly noticed the tapestries and mosaics that covered the walls of our castle. Even though my father was a humanist and invested a great amount of money into the arts, I was not interested in it at all. The artwork only regarded fairy tales; things that were created to make one feel a sense of happiness, yet could never come true. I was not accustomed to happiness. I just lived to serve my duty as the princess of England.

A slight trickle of music echoed throughout the halls, coming from the great room. My father had planned a huge feast in recognition of the great stag that he had killed while out hunting earlier today.

The great oak doors were opened by the doormen and I was introduced to the crowd seated inside.

"Princess Camille."

All stood and bowed, except for my father. He nodded a greeting to me as I sat alongside him at the long table. My chair was tucked in behind me and everyone around me took a seat. The musicians played a new song and the evening chatter started up once again.

A servant came around and poured a glass of wine for me. I stared at the cup, but did not drink. The voices wafted around me, but none of the conversations seemed at all intriguing to me. The only voice that seemed to register was my father's booming voice as he spoke of his great accomplishments. He was talking with a nearby courtier about the deceased Queen of England, God rest her soul.

"Aye, the Queen was the most beautiful woman in all of England. I was lucky to have had her as a wife. It is unfortunate that she never bore me a son, but rather a daughter whom I can do nothing with."

He spoke as if I were not even there. His words hardly hurt anymore.

"She will be married off to some prince or nobleman who will eventually rule. It is sad that the Dower name will reign no more after my time has passed."

The courtier nodded and said something in return, but my attention had wandered to my wine glass yet again. I could not wait to be finished with dinner and be able to go off on my own. The farther I got from my father, the better.

"Your majesty, I am sure a new wife will be able to give you a son." The courtier's voice was nasally and snobbish. I shuddered involuntarily when I heard him speak.

"Well surely that is an option. But alas, there will be no woman more beautiful than the Queen."

"Aye, your majesty, it is true. And what is this news about your highness expanding your royal household?"

"Ah, yes. I have decided that it is time for a change. I need some strong, young workers. Youthful, if you will. Men that will work for me who won't mind making a smaller wage than the workers I have now."

"But sire, I'm sure any man with a touch of common sense would know when he is being cheated regarding his wages. Forgive me, but how will you accomplish such a feat?"

"You make a very fair argument, but alas, I have already decided that I will simply pay the men their dues and if they even so much as question me, they will be gone from this place; banished for being ungrateful."

"Excuse me," I said coldly, pushing back from the table.

My father pretended not to notice as I strode towards the doors, the doormen scrambling to open the doors quickly and my ladies jumping up from the table in order to follow me out. All was silent until I was outside the great room. The music started up again, and voices resumed their conversations, presumably gossiping about my sudden exit.

I walked quickly to my room and, upon arrival, turned to face my ladies. "I will be left alone now," I stated dryly as I shut the door. The last thing I saw was their curtsey of obedience and then I was leaning against my wall, breathing heavily. The flight to my room was more tiring than expected due to the tightness of my corset. My lungs could not supply me with enough air. The room swirled around me and then all I saw was nothing.

I woke with a start. I sat up in bed, my chest heaving.

"Your highness, it is so good to see you awake. I am happy to report that you will recover quite nicely. You only fainted from a mere touch of exhaustion."

My physician stood next to the bed, pouring me a glass of water. He handed me the cup and I drank thirstily. My dry lips almost seemed to stick to the cup.

"I suggest staying in bed for the remainder of the evening. I will be back to check on you first thing in the morning."

I nodded tiredly as he closed up his bag and left the room, bowing slightly before he exited. My ladies followed him out of the room, closing the door behind them. I sank back into my pillows, my mind puzzling over what had happened.

A moment later, I heard a commotion at the door. There were a few raised voices, and then my door was opened slowly. One of my ladies, Margaret, came in. She looked flustered as she spoke, "I'm sorry, your highness. Mr. Craymer is here, and he insists that he be granted an audience with you."

I was infuriated, but did not show it. I nodded my head as she curtseyed, and then my father's secretary entered the chamber. I sat up in bed, a blank expression on my face. I refused to greet him on the pretence of such rudeness.

"Princess, the king has sent me here to introduce someone to you."

"I am in no condition to meet anyone, sir, so I ask that you leave me to rest."

"My apologies, princess, but it will only take a moment. The king has ordered it."

I stared at the secretary, my expression turning blank once again.

"I would like to present your new lady in waiting, Miss Mary Greaves. She is the king's gift to you."

A young, fair haired woman entered the room and curtseyed. She had glassy, blue eyes and a pale complexion.

"A gift?" I asked sarcastically. She was not a gift for me, but rather for him, as she would probably become one of his many mistresses.

"Madam, I am pleased to serve you. You are most gracious for receiving me when you are ill." She bowed her head, and waited for me to accept her.

"I will ask for you both to leave now. I am tired, and my physician orders that I get my rest." I lay back down in my bed and closed my eyes, waiting for them to escort themselves out.

"As you wish, princess. Come Miss Greaves, I will show you to the rooms that you will be sharing with the other ladies in waiting. There you will get settled in and you will be expected to be at the princess' chamber first thing in the morning to prepare her for breakfast."

"Yes sir."

I could hear their voices fading as they left the room and carried on down the hall. My doors were shut and my room was basked in silence. I sighed and looked to my left, a lump forming in my throat, though I knew not the reason for it.

The feeling passed as quickly as it had come, and I was soon able to drop off to sleep again.


	3. Chapter 3

Thomas

"Thomas, I must say! Well done." My father stood above me as I hammered on the last shoe. My lips tasted of salt and my shirt clung to my back as I stood up, stifling a moan as I straightened my aching back.

"Thanks, sir."

My father knelt to examine the last shoe and whistled loudly. "I am impressed. I knew you'd be able to do this. You will do just fine with the king."

I nodded quietly.

"Well, once Mr. Mason arrives, I can give him his horse and we'll call it a day."

"Of course," I headed back into the shop when my father stopped me.

"Ah, you go on ahead. I'll stay back and wait for Mason." For once, my father smiled at me, and I felt that I wanted to smile back.

"Thanks, father. I can start something for dinner if you'd like."

My father waved his hand at me as he went back inside. I laughed and headed for home. The work of a farrier was hard, but what I just obtained was a great reward. My father was actually proud of me. I just hoped I wouldn't be letting him down once I started my new job. I looked up at the sky. The sun had almost set, and the colours remaining in the sky were quite fascinating.

A commotion in the street brought me out of my small reverie. I looked up ahead and saw two men arguing next to a half empty vegetable cart. The other half of the vegetables were strewn all over the street. A dozen or so villagers had stopped to watch the two men quarrel. I recognized the one man as Mr. Mason. As I got closer to the quarreling men, their argument became audible.

"I've told you once and I'll tell you again. I refuse to pay for those vegetables. It was not my fault you were carrying on down the street like a madman, not watching where you were going."

"Well if you hadn't walked right in the middle of the street without paying attention to what was coming, we wouldn't be in this mess!"

"You shouldn't have been running down the street with a cart in the first place!"

"That is not the point. The point is you are going to be paying me for my loss!" Mr. Mason shouted something unintelligible as he grabbed the vegetable man by

his collar. I ran up to the men and tried to speak.

"Mr. Mason!"

The vegetable man succeeded in freeing himself from Mason's grip. "That will be enough, sir! I will be on my way, but I best not be seeing you in the streets anymore, for if it happens again, I will not be so careful. In fact, it would be my pleasure to crush you underneath the wheels of my cart." The man straightened his collar and wiped at his apron.

Mr. Mason's face was beet red, and he looked as though he were going to lash out at the man again. I swallowed and then approached Mason once more.

"Mr. Mason, your horse is ready." I looked him in the eye, sending him more than one message. Mason stared at me, forgetting who I was for a moment, and then nodded as he flattened his hair and twitched his nose.

The man with the cart was picking up any vegetable that he could salvage; leaving the ones that had smashed on the street.

I led the way back to the shop, Mason following after me. I heard him mutter to himself, "What an insufferable man."

"Sorry, sir?" I asked, pretending to misunderstand him.

"Nothing." Mason checked himself before continuing to speak. "Your father finished my horse quite quickly. Your shop must be quite reputable in these parts."

"Aye sir, but our shop is the only one in this village, making our reputation inevitable."

"True enough. It must earn you and your family quite the living then."

"Enough to help us along, sir."

"With a job like that, I'm sure it is tough to enjoy the fruits of your labor though, yes?"

This was very true. The one thing that had troubled my mother was that she never got to see my father. He was always working late in the shop. "You could say that, sir."

"So is it just you and your parents at home?"

"Just my father and I." I walked in silence as Mason looked at me, a sadness growing in his eyes.

"Sorry boy, I didn't mean to pry."

"No harm done, sir." We arrived at the shop before our awkward conversation could continue. "Here is your horse sir, all set to go."

"Thank you…" Mason looked at me, inquiring after my name.

"Thomas,"

"Thomas. Also, I thank you for getting me out of that bit o' trouble back there. If we ever meet in the future and you ever need anything, I'll definitely offer you a hand." He thrust out his arm and he and I shook hands before he turned to go inside the shop.

I looked upon his horse for the last time. He was a fine white gelding. He stood well for me while I was doing his hooves. My father had told me I was lucky because some horses found it amusing to act up when standing for a farrier.

The gelding nickered at me, surprisingly, considering the way he had acted when I first met him. He allowed me to stroke his face. I said goodbye to the horse and then made my way back to the cottage again.

After my mother had passed, my father and I had to learn how to cook. At first, my father would usually bring home some bread and ale, and we'd eat some sort of vegetable with it. Eventually, I came across my mother's old recipe papers, and I learned how to make soup, stew, and other such meals.

Tonight I thought that soup and bread would be sufficient for dinner, along with a mug of ale each.

While I cooked, I thought. I had to figure out the root of my fear of serving the king as a farrier. I had proved to myself today that I could do the job without fail. I knew how to make the right sized shoe and I knew how to nail it onto a horse's hoof properly and safely. I shook my head. That was not the root of the problem.

I dipped my spoon into the soup and tasted it. I sprinkled in some more salt, hopping it would suffice.

Then it hit me. I couldn't leave my father to fend for himself. He knew how to cook, it was true, but he wouldn't have the time. It'd be too late by the time he got home from the shop. He'd be tired and too lazy to make something. Instead, he'd live off of bread and ale, which was not healthy at all. Plus, he had a cough. What if it worsened when he was gone? He was reaching an older age now, and he shouldn't be left alone every night. Surely I was worrying like an old wife, but I couldn't shake the fears I had for my father. He _needed _to have somebody here. But whom?


End file.
